Speaking of letting nothing move us…

Me again.

I follow the M’Cheyne Bible reading plan, but it usually takes me two years to finish. I have an app on my phone that tells me what to read. Then it gives me a progress update and tells me how I’m doing in terms of “attendance.” Because I read at about half the suggested pace, I get a little message every time I log on that says, “Your attendance is poor.” It zings me.

The M’Cheyne plan doesn’t organize the Old and New Testament readings topically. Last week, however, I detected a recurrent theme across the passages. I had read Job 33, and in that chapter, Elihu reminded me that “God does speak–now one way, now another.” God always speaks through scripture, but sometimes He orchestrates circumstances to bring a particular idea into focus. Here is what I noticed in my reading:

In Exodus 14, I read, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring to you […] The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Next, in 1 Corinthians 15, I read, “Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.”

Then, in 1 Corinthians 16, I read, “Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong. Do everything in love.”

Then later in 2 Corinthians 1, I read, “Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ. He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.”

Finally, in 2 Corinthians 2, I read, “We work with you for your joy, because it is by faith you stand firm.”

Naturally, I felt exhorted to stand firm–maybe in general, or maybe in preparation for a difficult season I’m about to encounter. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about what it means to stand firm. The contexts of these verses help round out the picture for me.

I should stand firm:

• and resist fear. He who is in me is greater than he who is in the world. I need to meditate on the implications of this power imbalance and let it chill me out.
• and anticipate the Lord’s deliverance and rescue. I need to fix my eyes on Jesus who is coming for me. I expect Him to show up, not stand me up.
• and be still. The Lord will fight for me. He and I are not a two-man team. He is not my co-pilot, as the bumper stickers claim.
• and give myself fully to the important work the Lord has put in front of me. I need to avoid distraction. I shouldn’t waste the day worrying instead of working. For me, worrying often takes the shape of compulsive researching and strategizing for solutions.
• and be on guard against temptation to wring my hands and treat people badly when I’m suffering.
• in the power of Christ who has put the Holy Spirit in my heart as a guarantee of the wholeness that is to come. I should not nurture faint-heartedness in myself, because  I’m not all I’ve got to rely on. The Holy Spirit is at work in my weak flesh.
• in faith. I need to trust that God is all-knowing, good, present, and powerful in every moment and has been so throughout all of human history. I should view my circumstances through the lens of this reality.

 

Speaking of needs…

As you two know, I watched Terrence Malick’s beautiful film The Tree of Life the other day. I can’t get over it, not only because it’s different (weird, even), but because it addresses all the big questions of life in a single, two-hour event.

The Tree of Life focuses on both one family’s ordinary, often pain-filled existence and the goings-on of the entire universe. Malick pulls out a magnifying glass to show us the lip twinges of a disappointed pre-teen boy. Then he employs a telescope to demonstrate the intricate movements of the stars. We watch a father explode in anger and a volcano explode with pent-up lava.

Through it all, the characters whisper, “Where are you, God? Why aren’t you answering me, and why do I believe in You anyway?”

Photo by 42 North on Pexels.com

By the end of the film, we come to understand that God is answering them simply by existing, by holding the universe together while nudging their inner thoughts. The characters can’t not believe in God even when God doesn’t immediately assuage their grief. Somehow, they stumble upon the way of grace. They learn to relinquish their right to a happy ending, and by this they are saved.

The themes in The Tree of Life play out in our own lives. We enact plot points in our little stories, and they feel ultimate to us. Yet the Lord of the universe sees the amoeba and the galaxy with equal clarity. He exists outside of, and beyond, us. Our stories do have meaning, but not apart from Him.

The Bible tells us God is intimately involved in our tiny lives, but in order to find freedom we must remember He is ultimate and we aren’t. We’re told He is up to greater things than we can imagine. We glimpse them, sometimes, when we let go of our craving for a pain-free life–when we stop demanding answers and let ourselves be loved by the One who made us.

Because, it turns out, being loved by Him is the only thing we really need.

Speaking of freedom…

I’ve been thinking about what it means to need. It’s a word I use a lot. I need to grade this stack of papers. I need you to stop making those mouth sounds. I need a break.

Last year, I read When People are Big and God is Small by Ed Welch. In it, Welch seeks to define human need from a biblical perspective. He says we often conflate our outsized desires for human connection, approval, and security with God-given needs. This critical misunderstanding underlies many of our broken ways of relating. Our clawing desire for human love and acceptance is what the Bible calls fear of man. It leads us to do mean, weird things. He describes the different and sometimes surprising ways that fear of man manifests in our lives.

Secular psychologists call fear of man codependency, which makes it sound more like a mental health issue and less like the sin it is. The crux of Welch’s argument is this:

“Regarding other people, our problem is that we need them (for ourselves) more than we love them (for the glory of God).  The task God sets for us is to need them less and love them more” (19).

He explains that when we mistakenly believe that we need people to love and accept us and treat us right, we place ourselves under their control. This isn’t freedom.

Welch explains: “You are controlled by whoever or whatever you believe can give you what you think you need.  It is true:  what or who you need will control you” (13-14).

We are slaves. There’s no getting around it. But believers are slaves to Christ, not each other. We do have needs, but we should make sure we know what they are so that we don’t become enslaved to false masters.

If we do not understand what God has designed us to need, our love will be self-serving, abusive, and idolatrous in our attempt to get our faux-needs met. We won’t know what to expect from God when He promises to “meet all [our] needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19).

Secular psychologists suggest cures that exacerbate rather than relieve the fear of man. Love yourself, find your tribe, use “I” statements to communicate your needs, etc.

The other day, my friend Michael told me about  a new model scientists have developed for predicting who will commit suicide. When analyzing the writing of people who have committed suicide, researchers found that these depressed individuals used significantly more personal pronouns than average.

Psychologist Mohammed Al-Mosaiwi explains:

 “Those with symptoms of depression use significantly more first person singular pronouns – such as “me”, “myself” and “I” – and significantly fewer second and third person pronouns – such as “they”, “them” or “she”. This pattern of pronoun use suggests people with depression are more focused on themselves […] Researchers have reported that pronouns are actually more reliable in identifying depression than negative emotion words.”

When we focus on ourselves, the fear of man only grows and morphs into new, sneaky expressions. Focusing on ourselves drives us deeper into fear and despair, even when we try to think positively and practice self-love.

Welch makes the argument that the antidote to fear of man is magnifying the Lord. We magnify the Lord when He looms large in our hearts. We help ourselves see Him clearly when we worship Him, read and memorize scripture, talk to Him, serve each other, and tell each other about His goodness, power, and beauty. We need to worship. If  we don’t worship God, our hearts reach toward idols to fill the vacuum.

Speaking of birthdays, an exit interview…

It was Hannah’s birthday this week, so I (Rachel) conducted a brief exit interview with her to assess her 40th year. I used to do exit interviews with my kids on their birthdays until they told me they hated it because it “felt like pressure.” I don’t even know what they mean. 

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How did you expect yourself to be different at 40 (but you actually stayed the same)?

I expected to be less reactive and more patient. Alas, I have a clump of small, orange charcoals for a heart, and the passage of time has not cooled them, so please chew with your mouth closed. And turn that music down.

What was better about being 40 than being 30?

I’m running now, and I wasn’t then. It’s made the most surprising differences in my life. As far as the body goes, pretty much everything else is worse ten years later. Well, I take that back. I sleep more now. Probably due to the running.

What is something you think about every, single day?

I have a spiritual answer, a mom answer, and an I’m-not-quite-sure-where-it-fits answer. They’re all true and as follows: God, my kids (because I homeschool them, and they’re rarely out of my presence), and my debut novel The Excellent Ones. If you’d asked what’s something I think about 216 times per day, it’s the novel.

What is the best thing you ate this year?

Pot roast made by an ex-Amish lady.

What women do you have your eye on as mentors? (Who seems to be doing life right?)

I’ll tell you who I stalk on the Internet: Karen Swallow Prior, Rosaria Butterfield, Jen Wilkin, Andrew Peterson (not a woman), my beloved Sara Groves, Patty Griffin, and my pretend dad, John Piper (also not a woman). My far-flung missionary friends remind me that this world is both big and small, and that God so loved it that he gave his only Son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. Also, I love Mary Oliver and am enduringly sad she’s gone.

What do you look for in a friend these days?

I don’t really look for friends, to tell the truth. They find me. It’s either a mystical connection, or it’s DOA. My dance card is full.

What are you reading right now?

If you’d asked but a little while ago, I might have said The Old Man and the Sea, Silence, or The Power and the Glory. As is, I confess I’m reading John Grisham’s The Firm. The writing is clunky, and I already know the ending. Yet here I am.

What do you find intolerable at age 40?

The exact maternal fanaticism I embraced as a young woman. I see a certain gleam in a new mom’s eyes, and I fail to feel the sympathy I ought to feel. Instead, I try to switch seats. I have enough intensity raging in my own soul (see above) that I don’t need it reflected back to me in the form of opinions on breastfeeding. It’s mean, but what can I say?

What do you hope to accomplish this decade?

I plan to write and publish at least seven full-length novels that reflect the truest things I know.

What do you know about God that you didn’t know when you were younger?

I’m coming to believe in my heart what I always believed in my head: that His love for me is sourced from his love for His Son. That means it’s more durable and irreversible than I can understand. This is freedom.

 

Speaking of burdens too big to bear (and how to bear them anyway)…

I turn 41 in a few days. Since we don’t have much time in this season of raising three teenagers, my husband and I decided to get away last night to celebrate. I should have been excited, but I was worried I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the time.

I’m not good at drumming up positive feelings I haven’t prepared for. And, frankly, I wasn’t prepared for a fancy meal and an overnight stay in a hotel. Not because I don’t like those things, but because recently, I’ve been a witness to sad, hard things both in the lives of my friends and in the world. It’s hard for me, A). to shut off the sadness I know exists in order to have fun, and B). to do it right now.

Photo by Du01b0u01a1ng Nhu00e2n on Pexels.com

My struggle to lighten up is likely due to a number of factors, one being my Myers-Briggs Type, but the reasons don’t really matter because the result is the same: I have to gear up to have fun, now more than ever.

Am I just an incurable Eeyore, or is it nuts for any of us to think we can pretend we aren’t living on a groaning planet–even if only for a couple of hours? I go back and forth on this.

On the one hand, I can’t believe we’re meant to stay in a perpetual state of sadness as we walk through this life. (Jesus seems to suggest otherwise). But, then, how do we notice the suffering around us without it ruining us? How do we look elsewhere for a minute?

I asked myself these questions when I lived in India, and their answers felt like the keys to the universe. I’ve been back in the U.S. for seven years, now, and I’m still asking…

So, last night, I prayed the Lord would help me look my husband in the eye at dinner and savor the artichoke fritters. I prayed he’d help me not to let my mind wander when we watched a movie afterward. I prayed I could stay in the moment.

And He did help. I forgot about Big, Heavy Things for little while. I laughed when I wasn’t trying. I had fun.

Maybe this is what daily manna looks like for me right now: Grace to dive deep and grace to come up for air. Maybe it will be like this for the rest of my life, and maybe that’s okay.

Speaking of teeny tiny lives and big love…

My son is a profuse little human. He has always been this way. He’s got a triple dose of personality in his teeny, tiny seven-year-old body. For example, this was his response to a plastic plate he got for his third birthday…

And these are the kinds of notes that my husband and I receive on a daily basis:

• 

The funny thing about this kid is that he is obsessed with his quiet, introvert dad, but he is exactly like me–his spazzy, extroverted mom. (Don’t tell him that, though, or he may devolve into tears, arguing emphatically that he is “exactly like him”).

• 

I woke up yesterday (Valentine’s Day) to him coming into my room to get the space heater to bring into the bathroom. I queried why he need it. He responded matter-of-factly, “I’ve got to shave for Christmas Eve, today.” I said, “You mean Valentine’s Day?” He nodded and shuffled off to the bathroom, heater and fake razor in tow.

• 

This little guy has taught us all about love. He’s easy to love most of the time (although his sisters can give evidence otherwise). He loves others profusely, and he’s not afraid to show it.

This Valentine’s Day, he made each of us, sisters included, this little valentine–a paper heart wrapped in a ribbon and tied with yarn.

His love is simple but big. It reminds me of this song. It also reminds me of wise words from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“I have decided to stick with love because hate is too big of a burden to bear.”

Mostly, it reminds me of how important love is. So important, that some of Jesus’ final words to his disciples were, “They will know you are my disciples by your love.” (John 13:35).

In our teeny, tiny lives, may we show the big love of Jesus.

 

Speaking of running (on empty)…

Girls, sometimes the most valuable thing I can say is, I heard this wonderful song or, you’ve got to read this (as you well know). So today I’m digging into my mental fridge and pulling out the leftovers that have only gotten yummier sitting in their own juices–because February’s hard. We need some comfort (brain)food, plus, maybe some real food.

By the way, have you forgotten how delicious sauerkraut out of a can is?

To listen:

This song because you know how we feel about a man’s man who’s also in touch with his feelings. Listen and float back to middle school like that little feather in Forrest Gump.

Running is hot.

And this because you can’t really get hurt pressing on a bruise, and because I can’t stop thinking about Gran.

And this one because I miss India so much sometimes.

To read:

This because we always suspected The Talented Mr. Ripley was real. (Prepare yourself for a couple of wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap words).

This because we love a little confirmation bias around here.

And this because I wish Karen Swallow Prior was my beloved mentor-aunt. I mean, she IS that. I just wish she knew it.

To watch:

This (with your daughters and with plenty of discussion).

This. Can’t get enough.

And this.

There you go. A few little snacks for these cold, dark days.

Enjoy. XOXO

Speaking of living in a body (of death)…

I teach 8th graders how to write. We spend a few minutes at the beginning of every class learning about literary devices and how they add meaning to writing. Last week, we talked about paradoxes.

I ended up using some Jesus quotes for examples, because every other thing he said was a paradox. Since the kingdom of God runs so contrary to human expectations, it makes sense that Jesus would resort to paradoxes to help us get our heads around it.

The meek will inherit the earth.

The last will be first.

I’m attracted to paradoxical scenarios. For instance, I loved the show Foyle’s War and how it explored the question, “What is murder in wartime?”

How much do I love Michael Kitchen’s face?

The other day at the gym, I got on the treadmill beside a very old woman. She was wearing elastic-waist jeans and a tucked-in T-shirt. She was like a featherless bird with purple and brown marbled skin. She couldn’t stand up straight, but she was running. Paradox! It made me cry. I blurted out, “You’re doing it!” and she pumped a little bird claw fist in the air.

I turn 40 this coming fall, and I’ve been scoping out fall marathons as part of my celebration. I started running marathons when I was 35, and this will be my 5^thone. I came to marathoning late, but I’ve been running for many years. I am not a particularly talented runner, but I’m dedicated. For this reason, I snagged a first marathon time that I believe is close to my potential.

Racing with my sisters

I want to keep running marathons as I get older, but I’m not going to be a better runner at 45 than I was at 35. I routinely dismay my children by reminding them that we are all marching to our graves, and we make progress toward the destination every day. But it’s true. The story for this body of mine is not going to end well. I’m not panicking, because I’ll get a new one, but this reality leaves me musing about my goals as a runner: What is progress in this body of death?

I know what progress isn’t. I was listening to an old episode of This American Life when Ira Glass interviewed Lindy West about her book, Shrill. I haven’t read the book, but it recounts West’s coming to terms with her body. In the interview, she talked about how the only way to be taken seriously as an overweight woman is to pretend that you’re fighting your body and “consistently failing for your whole life.” West reveals a paradox, except this one distorts reality rather than redeems it. The world will be okay with our imperfect and decaying bodies as long as we aren’t.

I’m not overweight, but I am getting older. I’m not celebrating this fact or fighting it. I’m just not going to spend the next couple decades trying to outrun my 30 year old self (and consistently failing for the rest of my life). I want to keep running the race, literally and spiritually, even though I’m trapped in a body of death that does what I don’t want it to do. I wonder if the old woman on the treadmill would agree with me.

My life is built on this paradox. It gives me hope, and it also makes me cry:

“We therefore were buried with Him through baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may walk in newness of life.” Romans 6:4

Speaking of the bother of owning a body…

Once in a while, someone writes something on the Internet that makes me want to stand up and shout, Yes! See? I knew it! (It helps when the author of the article is an incisive thinker and one for whom I’ve written in the past).

Anyway, Jen Pollock Michel has done it again.

In her piece in Christianity Today, Michel posits that all of our technology may be doing us more harm than good. She’s not talking about the dangers of too much blue light or the ubiquity of the ugly comments section. She’s concerned that our gadgets are making it easier for us to live disembodied lives.

Did you know, for example, that millennials find eating cereal in the morning too taxing? Apparently, washing the bowl and spoon afterward requires effort better spent scrolling through social media feeds or somesuch. Did you also know that young people are having less sex? Not because they’ve decided it’s dangerous, ill-advised, or better saved for a permanent relationship, but because it’s “tiresome.”

That’s right. It takes too much work.

Photo by Burak K on Pexels.com

Before we get too judge-y about the young folks, those of us in Mom Mode can now cook pot roasts or clean our living room floors from our office cubicles, all with the push of a button. When we’re actually at home, we can research topics or listen to music without even going to that trouble (Alexa, what is Gnosticism?) We have clothes and groceries delivered to our houses instead of shopping. We listen to audiobooks instead of turning a paper page.

Michel points out that all of this ease–this not using our physical bodies to do things for people and ourselves–makes us more likely to “conserve” our energy even further, to withhold our physical selves from those who need us. In short, it makes us want to become brains in jars.

Lord, how I feel it in my own self. As raising my kids has begun to require less physical work, I’ve become more and more content to retreat into a sedentary mind-life while existing in the same room with them. Since I have Netflix on my laptop, I don’t care about going to the movies with friends. Because I send text messages, I no longer feel the pull to meet at a coffee shop.

Gadgets that promise more free time and less bother seduce us into believing we don’t have to show up in our own lives. Flesh and blood isn’t necessary as long as we have the approximation of pixels.

But Michel helpfully points out that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Jesus had a body. We have bodies. We are meant to love and serve with them, as he did. We must press hard against the tendency to float through our lives in an increasingly virtual plane where nothing can touch us.

As long as technology buys us time to work hard in real, present ways, it’s helping. But if it lures us into disembodied living, it’s time to rethink our addiction to convenience.

Because it might just be erasing us.

Speaking of curling in on oneself (while using lots of parentheses)…

I can be a real navel gazer. My fascination with introspection and figuring out what’s going on is what makes me successful as a therapist. It also makes my husband one lucky man (just kidding, babe. I promise we are almost done talking. I just have 6,000 more words to use up, even though I know that you’re falling asleep because you’re twitching in that narcoleptic way that you do, and no matter how many times you tell me you aren’t falling asleep, I don’t believe you because I felt the twitch. And yes, I know that I’m breaking the rules because I’m talking psychobabble in bed, but just one more thing).

I listened to a podcast recently—which happens to be fantastic–called The Place We Find Ourselves (I should seriously get royalties for this and the Bible for how often I reference them in my everyday life). The guy was talking about implicit memories and how much they affect the way we respond to situations. While explicit memories are the ones we remember, implicit memories are elusive. Our minds don’t remember them, but our bodies do. 

Because our bodies remember them, we often react in surprising ways when the memories are tripped. We may respond with an emotional intensity that doesn’t seem to make sense given the situation, and we don’t know why.

Well, you can imagine that, to a girl who loves a good mystery like the shroud of Turin, or stigmata, or the Masons, or Ripley’s Believe It or Not (except not that last one because those people are c-r-e-e-p-y), this idea is both alluring and terrifying.

As a therapist, I know the human mind and heart are incredibly complex (I didn’t need LSD to figure that out, Mr. Leary), and it makes sense that we would have these extraordinary things called implicit memories. Honestly, though, I feel threatened by them because I feel pressure to figure out what mine are, where they come from, and how to control them. And then I spiral into all kinds of fear that usually ends with how I’m probably ruining my kids somehow.

Anyway, as I was listening to this podcast and feeling interested and enlightened, but also terrified, John 15:5 came to my mind.

 (Like every good Christian who makes New Year’s resolutions, I’m going through the Bible in a year, except I gave myself 5 years to do it–finally a victory!–and I’m currently camped in Numbers and John).

Yikes, Numbers.

Whew, John.

Sometimes I listen to Scripture with an app called Streetlights, which I highly recommend. Something about the rhythm of the narrator’s voice and the background beatboxing made this one thing Jesus said stand out:

“Apart from the Father, I can do nothing.” 

And I thought, man, if Jesus can do nothing apart from the Father, than I certainly can’t.

It led me to pray about my implicit memories and the body shifts I notice occurring. I can’t make sense of these, but the Father can.  The darkness is light to Him, and before Him our hearts are laid bare. 

And then I felt confident and at peace. I am limited. I can only do my teeny tiny part (like noticing my responses and body sensations), but the Lord can do the heavy lifting of providing insight, empowering change, and bringing healing. 

This is almost always where I end up–navel gazing, becoming aware, feeling overwhelmed and afraid, and then handing it over to the Lord. 

And that’s what therapy’s all about, Charlie Brown.